Perspective
by ten miles til midnight
Summary: There’s a silver lining in every cloud, but not all silver linings are in the clouds and sometimes, your friends aren’t always good for you. HermioneDean if you squint.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  The Prancing Pony is stolen from _The Lord of the Rings, which to J.R.R. Tolkien, the Tolkien estate (Christopher R. Tolkien, Michael H. R. Tolkien, John F. R. Tolkien, and Priscilla M. A. R. Tolkien), Ballantine Books, Random House, Inc., and New Line Cinema._

**Author's Note:**  Written for the FictionAlley Winter Challenge.  A huge thank you to **taricorim for beta'ing this.**

**Perspective**

Hermione's favourite Hogsmeade trip was always the one immediately before Christmas holidays.  It was convenient for buying last minute presents (not that Hermione ever left gift buying to the last minute) and was an ideal way to spend one last weekend with friends before dispersing for the holidays.

Of course, Hermione wasn't spending much of the afternoon with her friends.

The day had started out wonderfully.  Harry and Ron had indulged Hermione's desire to poke through the Charms books at Flourish & Blotts with minimal teasing, and Hermione had kept her disapproving comments to herself during their quick trip into Zonko's.  They ate a nice lunch at the Prancing Pony, a small Italian bistro that had opened on High Street, and snagged a table at The Three Broomsticks to enjoy a Butterbeer.   

Trouble struck as they were leaving Honeydukes.  Theodore Nott had been hiding on the side of the Post Office and was unable to resist the opportunity to nail Harry Potter in the face with a snowball.  Ron reacted by making his own snowball, which hit Pansy Parkinson in the side of the head.

Pansy whipped around and nailed Ron in the face with her own snowball.  Harry hit Goyle in the face, and Seamus, who had been walking down the street, joined the mêlée by sneaking up on Nott and stuffing snow down the back of his robes. 

Before Hermione could intervene, a snow war had begun.

Hermione hadn't joined in, obviously.  It was hardly becoming for the Head Girl to join in House warfare.  She noted, however, that this didn't stop the Head Boy from joining the fight.  After scoffing at Nott for the un-Slytherin plot of hitting Harry Potter with snowballs instead of hexes, Draco Malfoy had leapt to his House's aid.  The last she had seen of him, he was sitting on Harry, trying to shove snow in his mouth.

Hermione had attempted to drag Harry and Ron away from the fight, but after Ron had pushed her away and snapped, "Get off, Hermione.  You never let us have any fun," she had stalked off in a huff.

McGonagall quickly caught wind of the fight and swooped down to end the "festivities."  The Deputy Headmistress swept down the street, her eyes narrowed in fury.  "Stop this at once," she shouted.  "Mr Malfoy, get of Mr Potter at once!  Look at this!"  She gestured wildly to the fallen candles, the snow covered shops, and the set of dress robes spilling out of a Gladrags bag, the result of an unfortunate kerfuffle involving Malfalda Hopkirk, Crabbe, and an ice ball that was thrown too hard.

"Mr Crabbe, apologize at once and clean up the mess you have caused.  Ms. Hopkirk, are you injured.  I assure that all the students involved with be punished."  The milling students gulped with trepidation at McGonagall's icy tone.

"I can not believe that my students would behave in such a irresponsible, immature, and atrocious manner.  Twenty points from every student involved and none of you are allowed back to Hogsmeade for the rest of the term!" 

The fight and Ron's words had ruined Hermione's day.

After watching Harry and Ron lead off, Hermione marched off to finish her shopping, anger still bubbling underneath her skin and her eyes scratchy from unshed tears.  Inside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, Hermione ran a trembling hand over the shelves, brushing her trembling fingers along the rows of quills from every bird imaginable, from albatross to yellowleg and everything in between.  "Get off, Hermione.  You never let us have any fun."  The quills blurred together as Ron's words from earlier came to mind and her eyes filled with tears.

Hermione picked up an elegant peacock quill tipped with gold and scribbled against the pad of parchment that was set out for users to test quills and ink on.  She breathed deeply, her quest feeling tight, and choked back her tears.

The problem with Harry and Ron, Hermione though, is that they never appreciate me.  They don't care that I was only trying to prevent them for being sentenced to the detention with Filch for the rest of the term.  They didn't care that I was only trying to keep them keep them from spending the rest of the day in soaking, cold robes and ending up sick tomorrow.  They don't _care_ that I only wanted to prevent an all-out war from starting in the middle of the bleeding street and having their Hogsmeade privileges revoked, oh no.  All they cared was that little, old, worrywart Hermione was obsessing over her school rules and trying to stop them from having their "fun."

_Some fun it is_, she thought savagely. Let them have their ways — she'll be the one to laugh when they're complaining to her about having to clean the trophy room.****

She stomped through Gladrags Wizardwear, flinging down the holiday socks on display at the front of the shop in anger as she remembered all the times that her hard work had been ignored by Ron and Harry, only to be lateraccused of not helping them.  Her breath was coming in quick spurts and she noticed with disgust that the hand that was flinging the neatly bunched sock back on to the table was shaking.

She marched out of the shop feeling stretched and worn out.  Finding nothing remotely interesting to do in Hogsmeade in her current state, Hermione crossed her arms tightly over her chest and set off down street, away from Hogwarts.

She kicked the snow as she walked, sending up white clouds ahead of her.  Hermione knew that this was a pointless and showy display of anger and that is accomplished nothing and ruined the postcard perfect look of Hogsmeade, but she didn't care.  It felt good to kick something and while she was kicking snow, she could concentrate on the snow and how deep she dug her foot into the snow before kicking it and keeping the show from getting in between her boot and sock and anything but Ron's words, which kept running through her head.

She didn't know how long she walked.  When she stopped, the sky was beginning to turn red and orange with the setting sun and Hermione's boots were soaked through to the socks, her teeth chattering and her body stiff from the cold.  With a slight surge of panic, Hermione realised that she would never make it back to Hogsmeade before it was time to return to Hogwarts.  She would be hard pressed to reach it by nightfall.  

Hunched over her chest, she broke into a fast trot as she made her way back to the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade.  As she entered the town, she slowed to a walk to appreciate the scene.  Now that her anger had lessened, Hermione could appreciate Hogsmeade's holiday cheer.

Enchanted candles hung from the trees in strings and in the dusk, they appeared to be floating lights amongst the trees.  From the doors of the shops hung holy wreaths, heavy with bright red berries.  A light snow was falling, obscuring the individual features of the landscape and covering Hogsmeade in a light, and cold, veil.  Hermione could believe she had walked into a fairy tale or a snow globe.

Hermione wished powerfully that she had someone to share the moment with; someone who could understand the beauty with her.  Resentment surged back through her as though of Ron and Harry's reaction to the sight.  They wouldn't appreciate this either.  

As she walked out of town and towards the school, Dean Thomas separated from the trees and walked over to join her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?  The way the trees glow in the candlelight makes me want to paint.  And in the dark, the candles look like they're floating.  It reminds me of a fairy tale."  Dean smiled softly at Hermione.

Hermione smiled back, the last of her anger melting away.  "It is beautiful," she replied**,** and the two Gryffindors walked back to the castle, side by side.


End file.
